


treat.

by fishdad (Svynakee)



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Cafe AU, Fluff, Graphic Descriptions of Food, M/M, Romance, University AU, beware puns, inasure - Freeform, inaweek:egglord, no plot just food, not recommended for hungry people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:01:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9603128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svynakee/pseuds/fishdad
Summary: 1.To provide someone with (food, drink, or entertainment) at one's own expense.2. A sweet, biscuit or other item of sweet food.3. An event or time that is out of the ordinary and gives great pleasure.There’s an odd repeat customer who comes every day to the cafe Slaine works at, not eating a bite and yet always returning for more. But the fact that he keeps on paying means that he’s satisfied with the service, right?





	

**Author's Note:**

> A sweet fic for the first day of Inaweek. Happy birthday, Inaho. Kind of cheated since it's in Slaine POV, and it might seem a bit... similar... to another story of mine. 
> 
> (Also this entire thing was inspired by listening to Snail's House's _Hot Milk_ ; I highly recommend trying their music!)  
>  _Please enjoy your meal._

**[monday]**

Slaine bows as he sets the plate, teapot and cup down on the table. “Your crème brûlée and Earl Grey tea, sir.”

 

“Thank you,” the customer says. As always, he doesn’t look once at the food. It’s a pity. The dessert is glazed perfectly gold, garnished with fresh, round blueberries and bright red strawberries that shone like little jewels. But the customer’s eyes are fixed on Slaine as the waiter pours the tea – it’s already the second week, but Slaine still can’t get used to the feeling of those red-brown eyes on him. It makes him regret the frilly apron that’s a part of his uniform and the messy state of the pale blond hair. And it doesn’t help that the intensity of that stare makes Slaine feel like he’s not wearing anything at all…

 

Slaine tries to clear his mind by focusing on the fragrance of the tea as it sits steaming in the cup. Smiling his best service smile, he asks, “Would you like cream or sugar with your tea?”

 

The customer, a boy with brown hair in a comfortable if somewhat garishly coloured orange hoodie, never does.

 

“No,” the boy says.

 

Last week, this was when Slaine gave another little bow and retreated behind the counter to stew.

 

He could take stock or check the fridges or clean the equipment or any number of things, but the truth was that he’d already done that in the morning and the little café didn’t see enough traffic to warrant doing it again in the late afternoon. In the hours when the sunlight painted the walls amber as it began its descent, when nobody came. A quiet time for the dust motes to dance and for the coffee machine to whirr and for the Slaine to enjoy a cup of something warm, lounging with against the white and blue countertop as he watched the flocks of homeward bound birds cross the sky.

 

Until _he_ started turning up.

 

Always, unfailingly at the same time when there was no one else in the cosy café. Almost always in the same orange hoodie, too, which made Slaine suspect that he either never changed it or had more than one. He’d order something with tea and sit and stare, expression never shifting to give Slaine a hint as to what he wanted.

 

Well, whatever he wanted, it wasn’t food.

 

It’s been a week. Slaine can’t stand it anymore. Even he had a limit, good service be damned.

 

Slaine huffs. “Sir, are you going to eat that?”

 

He never does.

 

The boy pauses with the teacup to his lips. He blinks and tilts his head, as if he was a curious kitten. “You already know my answer.”

 

The hand that Slaine is using to hold his tray shakes ever so minutely as Slaine resists the urge to slam it into the _paying customer’s_ face. There’s a thousand things he wants to say and none of them are well-mannered, so Slaine simply smiles through gritted teeth.

 

Unperturbed, the boy continues to drink his tea. When the cup is half empty he sets it down delicately, the clink of china on china ringing in the silence. “But I am curious as to what happens to the food that I don’t eat. Do you throw it out?”

 

“No! We…” Slaine blushes, but really, what does he have to lose? So some weirdo tea addict gets to know an embarrassing detail about himself. It wasn’t as if he ever saw this guy outside of the café. He brings the tray in front of his face as if to hide behind it and looks at his worn sneakers as he says, “I eat it. It’s bad to waste food, you know! And you never touch any of it anyway so it’s not as if… as if it’s weird.”

 

“Do you mind lowering the tray a bit? My perspective makes it difficult to see your face,” the boy says. Slaine glances up to see him leaning forward, on hand braced on the sofa chair to support his weight.

 

With a yelp, Slaine backs away and holds the tray so that only his eyes peek over the rim. “I’m not going to agree to a request like that!”

 

The boy huffs but thankfully returns to a normal sitting position. “Fine. But you’re right, it’s bad to waste food. I come here to indulge myself, but that’s no excuse. I’m glad you’ve been eating it.”

 

Slaine wonders how he could reply to that. _No problem? It’s my pleasure? Hey, it’s your money and a free meal for me?_

 

In the end he settles for a quick nod. But as he turns to take his place behind the counter, he hears a shuffling coming from the table. When the boy catches Slaine’s eye he pats seat. _Come here_.

 

“Sorry, but I’m working right now and…” _and you’re kind of giving off creepy vibes._ Slaine chides himself for the thought – for all he knew, maybe the boy pitied him after hearing that Slaine ate scraps off the table at closing time.

 

“Nobody else comes at this time. Besides, if you are going to eat this anyway, it’s better to start now while it’s fresh.”

 

Slaine can’t refute that logic, so he heads over and seats himself beside the boy. First he eats the strawberries – they’re sweet and tart, coating his tongue in their flavourful juice. Licking his fingers, he picks up the spoon and uses it to break apart the crunchy caramelised top of the dessert. The he scoops up a spoonful of the crème brûlée. It’s smooth and the crème is delightfully rich; the sweetness is perfectly offset by the slightly burnt flavour of the sugar. The dish is empty before he knows it.

 

A cup of tea is pushed in front of him. Slaine chews the spoon nervously. He’s certainly thirsty after eating the entire dessert by himself, but at the same time the tea was entirely above his pay grade. Everything in this café was. It was no wonder it had so few customers.

 

And the tea smells really, really good. The scent caresses his nose and speaks directly to his tastebuds and finally Slaine decides that free tea is just free food but for liquids so he lifts the cup to his lips and takes a sip. The Earl Grey is aromatic but light and deliciously refreshing. He drains the cup. “Thanks.”

 

“No need to thank me,” the boy replies. He’s sitting with his chin on his hand and Slaine realises that he’d eaten in complete silence, probably wolfing the dessert down like some sort of starved barbarian. No wonder the boy was bored.

 

Slaine quickly wiggles out of the booth and gives a bow. “I’ll clean up now. You can leave any time! Since you’ve already paid.”

 

He’s bright scarlet before he manages to collect everything on his tray and retreat back into the kitchen, cheeks burning from embarrassment. Of course the boy already knew that he’d paid when ordering! As if he was as scatterbrained as Slaine was! Slaine slumps against the cool tiles of the kitchen and waits for his heartbeat to slow. When it does, he quickly cleans up and prepares to close the café for the night.

 

A gust of autumn breeze blew past as Slaine locks up, the chill cutting straight through his blue jumper and making him regret leaving his scarf at home. His lips dried from the wind, Slaine wets them with his tongue. He tastes caramelised sugar and Earl Grey, sweet and fragrant.

 

Slaine recalls the memory of the boy with eyes the colour of garnets, sudden and vivid.

 

Blushing, he stows the key into a pocket and goes home.

 

* * *

 

**[tuesday]**

“Your custard tart and Ceylon tea, sir. I suppose you won’t want any sugar or cream?” Slaine asks as he sets the order down. The brunet shakes his head and shuffles over to make space while Slaine places a teacup in front of him and pours. “You’re not even going to try it?”

 

“It doesn’t look to my taste,” the boy answers.

 

Slaine eyes the tart. It’s an enticing buttercup yellow and he can’t find anything wrong with it, so he sits down and tucks in, careful not to dislodge the glazed strawberries used as decoration as he cuts a bite-sized piece. “I don’t know why you come here, then. You’ve seen the menu – we don’t serve anything but sweets.”

 

“And tea,” the boy says before he takes a sip.

 

Slaine takes a moment to savour the way the shortbread tart crust adds texture to the firm custard filling. It’s not too sweet, he thinks. The syrup-soaked strawberries are far more overpowering, but in a pleasant way, like a burst of colour in a beige room. It’s a nice way to unwind from hours of boredom and an excuse to rest his stiff legs - he stretches them out, accidentally brushing against the boy’s knees as he does so. The boy immediately draws his legs away. Slaine tries to see if he made the customer uncomfortable, but the boy has turned his head away. A chilly day and early sunset tinges the soft lines of his face in orange-pink and limns his hair with gold. Slaine realises how young the boy looks, with his full cheeks and round eyes. “Do you study here… uh….?”

 

“Inaho,” Inaho fills in. “Yes. I’m a second year studying physics. I assume that you are also a student at this university?”

 

Slaine nods. “Vet sciences, third year. The physics building is nearby… do you come here every day because it’s convenient?” The tea is good, but certainly not the most amazing option in the university and frankly overpriced.

 

“That is one of the reasons.” Inaho pours himself more tea. “Do you have any lectures in the physics building?”

 

“Ah, no, I just walk past it on my way here.”

 

“Is this place far from your home?”

 

“No, I live on campus.”

 

Inaho’s eyes widen a fraction before he nods and resumes his usual blank expression. Slaine wonders why Inaho found that piece of information so surprising but dismisses it; from what he’d seen so far, Inaho was one of those people that lived life their own way, doing what they felt like even if it seemed strange to others.

 

“Why are you smiling?” Inaho asks, jolting Slaine out from his impromptu trip down memory lane.

 

“Oh, nothing, just thinking of an old friend,” Slaine says. “You’re finished, right? Let me clean up.”

 

Before he can blink, Inaho has swiftly stacked the plate, saucer and teacup neatly. “You’re closing now, right? I can help. I don’t have any more lessons today.”

 

“There’s really no need!” Slaine is on his feet and clumsily tying the frilly blue apron back on as he tries to force Inaho to sit down through willpower alone - unfortunately, telekinesis is not one of his talents and he’s left to aimlessly chase after the boy as Inaho carries everything to the kitchen.

 

“You’re the customer! Stop doing my job!”

 

Slaine slams his hand down on the tap to stop the flow of water and snatches the sponge out of Inaho’s hand and is about to haul the boy out the door when he looks up and finds Inaho _pouting_. Cheeks puffed and lips pressed together, Inaho fixes him with a petulant stare. It’s the most emotive Slaine has ever seen him. He throws the sponge back in the sink, causing a shower of soapy bubbles to fly up like reverse snow. “Fine. But I’m doing everything else and pretending that you’re not in here, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Slaine swears that Inaho is fighting back a cheeky grin of triumph. Or maybe he just finds Slaine’s annoyance amusing.

 

When he walks out the door, Slaine wonders if he can ban people from the café.  

 

* * *

 

**[wednesday]**

“Thank you for picking our house specialty: strawberry-filled super-eclair.” Slaine places the dish in front of Inaho. “It’s really very good.”

 

Inaho eyes the thing uncertainly. “I wasn’t expecting an eclair of this size. It looks like a sandwich.”

 

It sort of does, with its layer of firm cream piped on top of halved strawberries between the choux pastry. The faint dusting of icing sugar over the whole thing also makes Yule logs come to mind. Slaine sighs as he pours today’s tea - a mellow Assam. He hadn’t even bothered to put the cream and sugar on the tray. He nudges the dish a bit closer to Inaho. “You won’t even give it a chance?”

 

“You’re being unusually insistent with this one,” Inaho observes. He actually picks up the fork and samples a dollop of the cream. His eyes narrow and his nose scrunches up in distaste. “It’s too sweet.”

 

“Is not,” Slaine shoots back, already untying his apron and folding it up. Inaho clears a space for him. “The manager designed the recipe herself, you know.”

 

“So you are contractually obliged to pretend to like it?”

 

“I _do_ like it,” Slaine says. He takes the fork from Inaho’s unresisting hand and sets about cutting the eclair into edible pieces.

 

For a while, the chink of cutlery is the only sound, until Inaho breaks it by asking, “Do you have romantic ties with anyone?”

 

“I… you mean, if I’m dating anyone? Hah. No.” Slaine spears a piece of eclair on his fork. “And if you’re talking about a crush then that’s a no, too.”

 

The éclair is sweeter than he remembers – perhaps he went overboard on the icing sugar. It’s been a long time since this item was ordered. The dry pastry and cloying sweetness of the cream sticks in his throat. He forces it down anyway and raises another bite to his lips.

 

“Here,” Inaho says, sliding a cup of tea in front of him. Slaine hesitates a bit before drinking. It’s strong, easily washing away the taste of the dessert. The warmth runs through him, settling comfortably in his stomach so that Slaine finds himself relaxing. And talking.

 

“The girl who started this café was a childhood friend of mine. It’s pretty crazy how we met.” He swirls the cup around so that the dark brown liquid forms a vortex. “I was trying to save a kitten that fell into a river, but underestimated the current and got swept away myself. Asseylum – my friend – managed to catch me and haul me back out. She saved my life.”

 

“You became attracted to her through your gratitude and relief, right?” Slaine sneaks a glance at Inaho, but the boy is looking out the window, as if mesmerised by the dance of falling leaves. His voice is as blank as always but he’s speaking more quietly, more slowly… Slaine fancies that he can hear an uncharacteristic lack of certainty there.

 

Had his ‘love’ been borne out of mere gratefulness for a second chance at life? Slaine slowly shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t that simply. She was… like someone out of a fairy tale. Kind, cheerful, generous, like some sort of princess. And beautiful, too.”

 

“Do you like her because of her body?”

 

Slaine slams the cup down more from surprise than anger, but seeing the way Inaho flinches makes guilt burn both of the feelings away. Quickly taking a few tissues to soak up the spilled tea, Slaine tries to diffuse the situation with a nervous laugh. “What do you mean by that?”

 

Inaho, however, looks completely serious as he asks, “This Seylum also studies at this university, right? What do you like about her appearance? Do you like long hair? Large breasts?”

 

 _Is this the sort of things boys our age usually talk about?_ “I don’t know! It doesn’t matter anyway. I said I don’t have a crush on her anymore! And her name is Asseylum!”

 

Slaine supposes that he doesn’t sound very convincing when he’d practically gushed about her less than a minute ago. Inaho says nothing – at least, not verbally. Slaine doesn’t like the way those wine-red eyes look at him and _through_ him; Inaho’s stare lies heavy on his chest and makes something twist and _flutter_ inside him. It’s confusing, unsettling. So Slaine tamps down on the feeling and ignores it, standing and donning his apron.

 

The éclair is a butchered, barely-touched ruin and the table is stained with tea. Slaine bows and asks in a light, cheerful voice, “Are you done with your meal, sir?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Slaine doesn’t ask if Inaho enjoyed the food. He clears away the table, dumping the remains of the strawberry éclair in the trash before cleaning up and closing the café for the night.  

 

* * *

  

**[thursday]**

Thursday mornings are always slow; the café isn’t that popular in the first place and for some reason or another the few regular customers they had didn’t show up near the end of the week. It’s not unusual for the café to be empty at these times, even as people walk past on their way to lessons, chatting or reading or texting as if the café didn’t exist at all.

 

Today is one of those days and Slaine is thankful for it. He sulks behind the cash register like a gargoyle, nursing a cup of strong coffee as he wills himself awake.

 

It doesn’t work. His eyelids ease themselves shut and the next thing he knows is that someone is calling his name, nudging him in a gentle but insistent way. When he opens his eyes, the sun is too bright, his head is too heavy and Inaho is standing in front of him.

 

Slaine jolts upright from where he was slumped over the counter. Inaho takes a swift step away from him, holding Slaine’s coffee far from his flailing limbs. Doing his best to straighten out the creases in his apron, Slaine says, “You’re early! I mean, good morning! You’re in time for the breakfast menu!”

 

“I can’t read it when you hold it so close to my face,” Inaho points out, setting Slaine’s cold coffee on the counter and taking the menu out of his outstretched hands. “I’m early today because my lecture was cancelled. The professor is sick, so I’m free today.”

 

“Oh, so you made the journey from home for nothing, then? Did you only find out after you’d arrived on campus?”

 

“No, she emailed us last night,” Inaho replies. “...actually, I’ve already had breakfast.”

Slaine finds himself slightly jealous - he’d slept badly the night before and woken up too late to have breakfast himself. “Do you just want tea, then?”

 

Before Inaho can reply, Slaine’s stomach decides to announce its displeasure to the world, loudly accusing Slaine of neglecting to fill it. Inaho looks sharply at Slaine, who blushes profusely. But he notes that there’s no disgust in the look Inaho gives him. In fact, there’s something much softer in the minute crease of his brows and the curve of his mouth; Slaine can almost believe that it’s concern.

 

“In that case, I’ll have the french toast. It comes with a complimentary cup of English breakfast tea, right?” Inaho gives the menu back to Slaine, who stows it back underneath the counter and rings up the order. Inaho is smiling, but Slaine is too tired to try and puzzle out why.

 

Biting back a yawn, Slaine says, “The tea usually comes with milk and sugar, but I’ll leave it out if you want.”

 

“Please do. Actually, add an extra cup of tea.”

 

“I’m afraid the second cup won’t be complimentary,” says Slaine, but punches it in anyway.

 

“That’s fine. It’ll be for you, so it’s better if I pay for it anyway.” Inaho takes his wallet out of the pocket of his hoodie. “People get upset if their gifts are just freebies that you have no use for, right?”

 

“I can’t accept this. I’ve been eating your food for an entire week - longer, actually,” Slaine argues. “There’s no reason for you to buy an extra tea for me as a ‘gift’.”

 

“I got the impression that I upset you yesterday. It wasn’t my intention, but that is not an excuse for my actions, so you can think of the tea as part of my apology.”

 

 _It’s too early in the morning for this_. There’s a part of Slaine that’s surprised to find that Inaho wasted time worrying about upsetting Slaine - after all, he’s nothing but a waiter. It would have made more sense for Inaho to leave and never return after yesterday’s debacle. For some reason, the thought twinges uncomfortably in Slaine’s chest. Slaine rubs a hand over his face and sighs. “No, I should be the one apologising. I… overreacted. You were just curious.”

 

“To the point that I made you uncomfortable. I’ve done it before. You don’t have to pretend that I wasn’t at fault.” Something about the matter-of-fact way Inaho says it makes Slaine feel even worse.   

 

With a sheepish smile Slaine declares, “We were both at fault, then.” He adds a discount to Inaho’s order and docks the money from his own pay, then tells Inaho the price. The way the boy looks at him as he counts out the money gives Slaine the impression that Inaho realised what he’d done, but neither of them say anything about it and Slaine goes to make the order.

 

By the time he comes out of the kitchen Inaho is seated in his usual place. Slaine serves his meal. “Your breakfast.”

 

“Your breakfast, actually,” Inaho says.

 

“Well let me keep _some_ semblance of being a good employee,” Slaine teases as he sits down. “Try a little bit, at least. For me.”

 

Inaho does. Normally, Slaine would have drizzled the syrup over the thick slices of warm toast, but Inaho doesn’t seem to appreciate the saccharine standards of the café’s menu so instead he poured the glossy, golden maple syrup in a shallow dish that he’s placed beside the plate of toast.

 

Inaho cuts a neat corner off a slice. “Brioche?”

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t like brioche.”

 

The corners of Inaho’s lips quirk up and Slaine just _knows_ that the guy is laughing at him. “I have nothing against it. But it’s richer than normal bread and I’ve already had breakfast, so you should eat it instead.”

 

Slaine gives a smirk of his own. With a flourish he reveals a second knife and fork. “Actually, we’re _sharing_! A bite for a bite.”

 

He makes good on his deal by cutting off another corner and popping the piece into his mouth. The bread is warm and soft, the coating of egg fried to fluffy lightness. Slaine very deliberately places his knife and fork down, crossing his arms triumphantly. _Your move_.

 

If Inaho is caught off guard, he doesn’t show it. The boy mimics Slaine, sans dipping his portion in syrup. After he swallows he says, “You said you were friends with the manager, but no matter what time I walk past I only ever see you here.”

 

Slaine can’t stop a slightly bitter laugh from escaping him. He dunks his next bite generously in maple syrup, but its rich taste is a poor distraction from the melancholy flavour that tinges his memories. “I see her dog more often than I see her, now.”

 

“Her dog?”

 

“It’s… complicated. Tharsis belongs her boyfriend’s father, but his family was too busy to take care of her. Asseylum offered to take her in, but now that she’s focusing on her studies Tharsis just lives with her grandfather. He hires someone to take care of her on weekdays, but on the weekends she lives with me. She likes seeing a familiar face.”

 

“Asseylum’s boyfriend?” There’s an unfamiliar note to Inaho’s voice, but Slaine can’t identify it. Inaho is looking down, focused on the french toast, and Slaine dismisses the odd feeling.

 

“Yeah. Klancain Cruhteo… they’re in several committees together and I guess he just asked her out one day?” Slaine takes a sip of his tea. “He’s a good guy.”

 

“He only met her after she started studying here, right? You’ve known her for longer,” Inaho says.

 

Slaine can guess where he’s going with the questions, but Slaine still asks, “Your point being?”

 

“If you liked her, why didn’t you ask to date her first?”

 

Slaine leans back and shoots Inaho his best glare. “What makes you think I didn’t?”

 

“You’re single right now.”

 

“We could have had a _very_ nasty break-up. I could have been dumped.”

 

“You weren’t.”

 

“And what makes you so sure?”

 

“It seems unlikely that someone would dislike having you as a boyfriend.”

 

Slaine doesn’t have a reply to that - a straight denial seemed insulting to Inaho, but agreeing would make him look vain… in the end, Slaine chooses to take it as a joke. “If you’re such an expert, maybe you should introduce me to someone cute?”

 

“You think I’m teasing you.”

 

“...weren’t you teasing me first?”

 

Inaho doesn’t meet his eye, apparently finding the food a lot more engrossing. There’s nothing but the sound of their knives scraping against the plate and the occasional sound of china on wood as they take sips of their tea, but after a while the quality of the silence changes from awkward to something more relaxed. There’s something about Inaho’s unobtrusive aura that’s comforting; or perhaps Slaine has just become used to sitting next to the boy every day, eating something sweet while the aroma of freshly brewed tea will the air around them.

 

The sunlight gradually turns golden as the morning wears on and the toast steadily disappears - Slaine is about to comment on how the serving size is smaller than he remembered when he notices the time. It’s nearly noon. Slaine jumps to his feet, intent on returning to the counter and doing… whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. A part of him points out that nobody has come in and that there’s really no need for him to be panicking about slacking off and he can afford a few more minutes sitting there next to Inaho…

 

 _What am I thinking? I made a promise to work hard!_ But the traitorous little voice is back, pointing out that she’d never know, and _‘I see her dog more often than I see her’_ and didn’t he see Inaho more often than either of them? And where had _that_ thought come from?

 

“Slaine?”

 

Slaine jerks out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

 

“I asked if you wanted to eat the last bit of toast,” Inaho says. The piece is already on his fork; Inaho waves it around in lazy loops like a baton. It’s still an enticing golden-brown colour despite not being fresh; Slaine finds himself following it with his eyes as if mesmerised.

 

He tears his gaze away. “You can have it.”

 

“You want it.” Inaho holds the fork out to him. “I’ve already had breakfast. You only ate half a meal.”

 

“You paid for it, so you should have it.”

 

“I paid for it, so I can decide what to do with it. And I choose to give it to you.”

 

In the end, Slaine takes it, but he does it with much huffing and glaring - he can’t keep the charade up for long, as Inaho smiles when Slaine puts the fork in his mouth and Slaine has to look away. Inaho’s smiles are never wide, never bright, never too falsely sweet like the one Slaine wears as he serves customers during the daily grind. Inaho’s smiles are soft, warm things, like autumn sunlight or a fresh cup of tea.

 

There’s a shuffling noise as Inaho gets to his feet. “I need to go. I lost track of time and my sister will probably be wondering where I am.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry for keeping you,” Slaine says.

 

Inaho frowns. “Don’t apologise for that. I enjoyed eating with you. I would stay longer, but I didn’t tell Yuki-nee that I would be going out. The fact that she hasn’t called me yet means that she’s still asleep, though.”

 

“I see. Goodbye, then.” Slaine walks with Inaho to the door and opens it.

 

Inaho puts on his jacket. “Bye.”

 

They stand there on the threshold, some unknown force keeping them rooted there. Slaine knows that he shouldn’t let the chilly air into the café but he can’t help loitering with one hand on the door. Inaho mirrors him; Slaine realises that he’s never seen Inaho outside before. The boy stands with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, framed by fall trees and a world carpeted in red, golds and oranges. Inaho’s eyes have autumn colours too; a heady wine-red, rich but muted.

 

A gust of wind chills Slaine to the bone. Inaho seems to feel the cold too, shivering despite his layers. Slaine chuckles at the sight - it earns him a pout and a glare. Still smiling, Slaine says, “See you tomorrow?”

 

“Yes,” Inaho answers. He waves. Slaine waves back. Inaho starts walking. Slaine closes the door.

 

It takes a while for Slaine to realise that for some reason, he hasn’t stopped smiling.

 

Perhaps he would smile all day until tomorrow came.

 

* * *

 

  **[friday]**

Inaho looks up and down the many layers of the parfait - fluffy white enriched cream, crunchy granola, fruit, then repeat. “I thought this was a blueberry and banana parfait.”

 

Slaine shrugs, deftly plucks the plump strawberry he used to garnish the confection and pops it into his mouth. “If I’m eating it anyway, I might as well change the recipe to suit myself.”

 

The weather today is unusually warm for the season and Inaho has swapped out his hoodie for a thin black jacket and white tee. For the first time Slaine sees how small he is without the bulky hoodie in the way; he’s unexpectedly slender, but in a graceful way that gives him an almost doll-like delicateness. Perhaps it was because he seemed to eat nothing and drink only tea. Their eyes meet and Slaine realises that he’d been staring, but Inaho doesn’t seem to mind and only asks, “You like strawberries?”

 

“Yes. I used to eat them a lot as a kid.” There’s that look again: slightly widened eyes as Inaho leans forward, as if Slaine’s answer was of the utmost importance to him. The interest makes Slaine feel a little flattered - he can’t recall anyone listening to him with such focus since his father died, but Inaho seems to drink in every inane detail that Slaine relays about his life as if his words were as delectable as the Darjeeling that was served with today’s order. But a one-sided conversation was a boring one and Slaine was certain that Inaho’s apparent interest in him was partially feigned out of politeness, so he asks the boy, “What fruits do you like?”

 

“I grew up in an orphanage, so we mostly ate apples and oranges. Personally, I prefer the latter,” Inaho says.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” To keep himself from saying more stupid things, Slaine scoops up a large spoonful of parfait and shoves it in his mouth. Its light and sweet, but his enjoyment is dampened by the fact that he ruined what had been a friendly atmosphere with his thoughtlessness. His heart speeds up for a moment as he wonders if Inaho would leave - if he’d say something and drive Inaho away, or worse, if they would simply drift apart like Asseylum had. Slaine’s solitary childhood, moving place to place with his father, had made him accustomed to being alone. It’s strange that the idea of being alone _without Inaho_ makes him so nervous. No, not nervous. Anxious. Scared.  

 

Inaho must have picked up on his turmoil because the boy quickly reassures him by saying, “There’s no need to say sorry. You couldn’t have know, and I’m not upset.” Inaho looks thoughtful for a moment. “Besides, you look nicer when you smile, so don’t feel bad.”

 

The next few seconds are filled with the sound of Slaine coughing as he attempts to recover from almost choking on his food. Taking a cloth from the apron he’d draped over the back of the lounge Slaine does his best to clean up the mess on the table. As he finishes, he feels gentle fingers on his chin turning his head - Slaine is too bewildered to react as Inaho takes a tissue and wipes his mouth, his touch soft but certain. All Slaine can do is swallow nervously, trying not to think about how close their faces are; in that moment he can see details of Inaho’s delicate eyelashes, the rich cherry-red colour of his irises, the way his lips press together in concentration. Inaho’s fingers are incredibly warm, points of heat that flare bright against Slaine’s skin, locking him in place as surely as a brace.

 

After an eternity - and not nearly long enough - Inaho lets him go and draws away.

 

“Thankyou,” Slaine mumbles. He can feel a blush burning its way through him.

 

“...no need to thank me.” Inaho is sitting at the table again, pouring himself another cup of tea. He’s staring at it with such odd intensity that Slaine’s surprised that the liquid didn’t start boiling. Inaho is blushing too - there’s a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks.

 

Slaine internally berates himself. And he’d thought that he’d ruined the atmosphere before! Their conversation had been practically idyllic when compared to the awkwardness that now hanging in the air.

 

Inaho doesn’t look at him again as he takes the ruined parfait into the kitchen and clears the table, finishing his tea in silence. They accidentally brush against each other as Slaine leans over to retrieve the empty teapot and both of them spring back as if electrified. The tension between them remains until Inaho finishes his final cup of tea and leaves with a wordless nod. But the feeling remains long after the door swings shut - a heavy cloud of something, like static-charged fuzz, fills the café. It clings to the furniture and coats the walls and Slaine can feel it on the dishes as he cleans up; the teacup is filled to the brim with it and Slaine finds himself gingerly trying to wash it without touching the thing.

 

And when Slaine goes back home he realises that he brought the nameless, buzzing thing with him, on his clothes and in his hair. That night, he feels phantom fingers gently tilting his chin and brushing across his lips.

 

He shakes his head and tries to banish the memory.

 

It’s an unusually warm night, for autumn.  

 

* * *

  

**[saturday]**

Slaine walks down an archway formed by gracefully curving branches and roofed with the sunset colours of autumn leaves. The air is filled with the steady rhythm of Slaine’s steps, each accompanied by the crunch of leaves underfoot, and Tharsis’ happy barking as she chasing the dancing leaves.

 

Suddenly, the Labrador bounds forward. The tug on the leash is almost enough to make Slaine fall face-first into the pavement; he finds himself dragged behind the speeding dog. Panting, he shouts, “Tharsis! Slow down! We’re almost home, what’s gotten into you?”

 

She halts, waiting for Slaine to stumble to a stop. He gives her head a pat. “I know you’re excited, but try not to kill me before we get there, eh?”

 

Tharsis barks, her tail wagging so much that it looks like a cream-coloured blur. She jumps up to shower Slaine with kisses as if in apology, making him turn his head away and laugh. “You weren’t this crazy before. Don’t trash my room, alright? We can go to the park and play after I drop off your things.”

 

At once, Tharsis drops to the ground and whines, rolling around on the pavement. Slaine kneels beside her. “Hey. I’m not angry about last time.”

 

Tharsis turns her black-marble eyes on him; there’s always something about a Labrador’s face that gives Slaine the impression that they were wise and slightly disappointed in him. And Tharsis usually had good intuition - he’d probably go home to find that he’d left the tap running or something. With a sigh, he stands up and starts walking again; Tharsis follows by his side, her pace sedate but upright tail and focused gaze making it clear that she was on high alert.

 

Her watchful energy was infectious. Slaine finds himself on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary, but they’re alone on the path save for a few birds chattering noisily overhead. They finally round the corner to the dormitories. Slaine is about to dismiss the feeling when Tharsis gives a great, booming bark, standing up on her hind paws as she caught sight of-

 

“Inaho?”

 

It’s unmistakably Inaho - Slaine can see his orange hoodie from afar, and the boy waves to him. He seemed to be holding something. Slaine isn’t given any more time to think; Tharsis charges at her target, intent on making a new friend and it’s all Slaine can do to run behind her. Luckily she still manages to heed his command in her excitement and stops before she turns Inaho’s face into a slobbery mess, instead throwing herself to the ground to wiggle and writhe in the hopes of getting a belly rub from him.

 

Slaine hunches over, trying to catch his breath. “Inaho. Why. Are. You here.”

 

“I was waiting for you,” Inaho says with a damnably blank face.

 

“How did you know I lived here?”

 

“These are the only dormitories that requires you to walk past the physics building to go to the café.”

 

“Why were you waiting for me?”

 

“I wanted to give you this.”

 

“What is this?”

 

“You could open the box, if you really wanted to know.”

 

Slaine takes the box from Inaho’s hands. It’s a yellow cardboard gift box with a white ribbon, rectangular and not too large. Slaine opens it. Inside, nestled carefully on baking paper, are two rows of heart-shaped pink macarons. The box is still warm; the smell of the freshly baked sweets quickly suffuses the air. Strawberry flavoured.

 

Slowly, Slaine looks at Inaho. Quietly, he asks, “Where did you get these?”

 

“My kitchen. I made them,” Inaho replies. “The box is store-bought.”

 

 _He cooked them for me?_ Slaine looks down at the macarons. They look delicious. He can’t see a single crack or blemish; if Inaho hadn’t told him he wouldn’t have known they weren’t professional. And fresh, too… had Inaho woken up on a Saturday morning just to bake him sweets? Slaine closes the lid, fingers fiddling with the ribbon. “Why are you giving me these?”

 

“I wanted to ask if you’d go out with me.”

 

“Hang out?” Mentally, Slaine crosses his fingers.

 

“...a date, Slaine. A romantic outing.”

 

“As your _boyfriend_.” Slaine flushes, and it was nothing to do with the cold air.  

 

“That is my intention, yes.” Inaho also has a rosy blush on his cheeks, but when Slaine looks into his cherry-red eyes he sees no hesitation or confusion there. Slaine’s own face is reflected in those eyes - slightly bewildered, but also smiling. Slaine realises that he looks… hopeful.

 

Slaine laughs nervously. “Inaho, I… Inaho, why do you want to go out with _me_?”

 

“I like you, Slaine.”

 

 _Why not?_ He enjoyed being with Inaho. He wasn’t dating anyone else. Why not take the plunge? “Alright. Alright, I’ll be your boyfriend, then.”

 

And because Inaho gave him macarons, Slaine feels obliged to give him something in return, so he leans in and gives Inaho a kiss. He can feel Inaho tensing, but the surprise passes quickly and before Slaine knows it he’s being dragged close, the lips below his own parting so that their breath mingles and he finally learns Inaho’s taste - mellow and sweet and hot all at the same time and utterly addictive.

 

Their kiss is broken by Tharsis, who jumps onto their intertwined bodies and tries to join in, causing Inaho to spring back like a startled cat as Slaine does his best to keep the macarons out of the way. Slaine laughs, Tharsis whimpers and Inaho glares at them both, face still flushed and hair still mussed and oh god, that’s Slaine’s _boyfriend_.

 

Slaine placates Inaho with the promise of a cup of tea in his apartment and then head up the stairs together, a properly chastised Tharsis at their heels. As they wait for the lift, Slaine asks, “Do you bake often? It’s just that your macarons look amazing, but you don’t seem to like sweet things much.”

 

“There are some sweet things I like,” Inaho says.

 

Slaine quirks a brow in disbelief. “Name one.”

 

“...Slaine.”

 

Slaine gags. Or perhaps this was simply his just desserts.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed that short story about food and tea and two awkward boys. If you're wondering what Inaweek is, please go here to find out https://inaweek2017.tumblr.com/faqs 
> 
> Crème Brûlée - a custard base topped with a layer of caramel, sometimes garnished with berries.  
> Custard tart - custard is made from milk or cream and egg yolk, it can be sweet or savoury.  
> Eclair and choux pastry - eclairs often have a custard filling; choux pastry is a dough made from eggs, flour, butter and water.  
> French toast and brioche - French toast is made by dipping slice of bread in egg wash; brioche is an enriched bread that uses egg and butter.  
> Parfait - the layers of parfait cream in this particular recipe is made glossy and stiff using cream, egg whites and sugar.  
> Macarons - a meringue-like sweet that is made using a mixture of egg whites and sugar, with a layer of jam, buttercream or ganache in between the two pieces. 
> 
> For most of the teas… if it’s high quality, I would recommend drinking it straight. Earl Grey and English Breakfast are suited to milk+sugar and I’m not too familiar with Ceylon, but Assam and Darjeeling shouldn’t have anything added to them. I usually drink Earl Grey flavoured with bergamot so I find that honey works well with the citrus. That being said, add whatever you want to tea to suit your tastes - Slaine always asks about cream and sugar because he’s supposed to present the option; if a customer is uncertain, he would recommend with or without.
> 
> _Thank you for your patronage._


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